Shattered
by Sinedra
Summary: Elodie is 18 and just made it into the Opera Populaire. Christine Daae soon becomes one of her closest friends,so much so that she is willing to confront the Phantom for her. Until she realizes that they have more in common than the young singer and opera
1. Opera Populaire

**Hello =), Since this is the first chapter I won't leave a long Author Note. Flashbacks are in 1st person and the present time is in 3rd.**

**PotO belongs to Andrew Lloyd Webber. Anything else belongs to me.**

Opera Populaire

_-Paris, 1919-_

An elderly woman walked through the streets of Paris, past the skeleton of a once renowned house of opera. It was now nothing more than charred pillars supporting a decaying roof which was blanketed in a billowy down of fresh snow which just seemed to bring the horror of that day back to life for the woman.

Her skin that once was so smooth with girlish youth, and was dark with the Sun's burden had now faded to wrinkles colored with age. The hazel eyes that held pieces of emerald glass were now silvering with blindness. Yes, she might have been old, but it had never shown on Elodie until a week ago.

The death of her most beloved husband had taken the joy and love of her youth with it to the grave. And the demon that was death had been greedy enough to take half her soul, she knew she wouldn't last much longer, but she had one last task to do. Death wouldn't have to wait too much longer for this Rom to tire escaping his clutches.

Her first objective was to visit the theater -something that was hard enough for all the memories incorporated with it- the Vicomte de Chagny was rumored to be attending the drab auction being held there to sell the ancient relics from the palace of music she had known so well. She had to find out where the Vicomte was headed next, more gossip had confirmed that it was the anniversary of his wife's death. Such a tragic event, even after two years it was long talked of.

For her husband and herself had been acquaintances with the Vicomtess and news of her death had reached them months afterward. It was time to go see her, but the widow had to find out where she was buried. For that she had to see if Raoul's schedule was more than just mere gossip.

Elodie's weary eyes beheld the lazy banner hung up above the dead stones of the steps declaring "_Public Auction Today"_. It was to help pay off the enormous debt France had been thrown into for entering the dreaded World War. To think that they were desperate enough to desecrate the resting corpse and take out her only reminders of a better time.

"_Madame_," nodded a young man whom had come outside. "Shall you be attending today's auction?"

She gave him a half-hearted smile, "I'm more here for the memories than the items, but yes dear sir."

He offered her his arm, "I'll escort you in, what is your name _madame_?"

"Thank you kindly," she said after threading her arm through his, "and I am Madame Sorrell."

She hardly heard his reply as she crossed over the threshold into a world of the past. Oh how the once golden statues had tarnished and the cobwebs they now protected were hung selfishly. Lord how the once proud walls sagged against their foundation. This was hardly the grand palace she had stayed in long ago. Yet there was no signs that the Great War had touched it, as though the her tragic death was a plague upon the invaders.

"Madam Sorrell, welcome to our public auction today," the auctioneer greeted with delight. No doubt few had come.

Elodie nodded in turn but only watched as posters from various operas were brought out, their fabulous color remained, but they were ghosts within this world. Most she had known, others from before her time. Though she was focused enough to sneer at the hideous profile of _La Carlotta _starring in _Hannibal_, even in her youth the Prima Donna looked like the frog her singing so flattered.

She hadn't been surprised when the singer had broken down and succumbed to insanity not long after the incident. And Elodie never had been more happy to see her taken away, the long time workers of the opera were more joyous than she had been.

It took the gypsy some time before she had realized that the older man a mere few feet from her person was Raoul himself, poor man was stuck relying on a wheelchair. His once long hair was mostly gone, and a mustache was the most he probably had. He looked so much more frail than she could remember. The Vicomte was bidding on an item that caught her immediate attention, a monkey clothed in Persian finery with cymbals in hand sitting on top of a music box.

It looked no older than the last time she had seen it. Though that had been many, many years ago. A tear came to her old eyes as they let the music box sound for the first time in its long slumber, the familiar melody was a strange comfort.

To her surprise, another had bet on the box. This woman was much older than herself and Raoul, she tried to hide her age behind a black veil that hung down from her dark hat but it did little. The aged Madame Giry -for she could never forget the woman who played such a role in everything- was also an unexpected relief for her. She never would have once dreamed of wanting to meet her harsh ballet mistress later in her life.

Feeling sorry for them both, Elodie let them bid between themselves for the object instead of selfishly giving all she had for it.

She was about to mention how the Vicomtess would have loved the box to the fortunately rich Raoul, although she knew Giry hadn't cut out of the bid for lack of money, when a lot "666" was called upon. It was the fated chandelier that had been the death of the theater, and so the devilish lot number fit it all too well. There was something eerie about the way it lit up as it rose up to its former throne. The Opera Populaire seemed to come alive again, cobwebs blew away as the seats fluffed out into the crimson cushions they were and gold seemed to shine off of everything else as the chandelier grinned upon it. Lights were instantly lit upon the old stage and the curtains stitched themselves back up to look presentable for the next audience.

Melodious talking echoed through the halls and giggles rose through the rafters. Gossip and commands cut through the opera house with authority while footsteps rang down from the stairs. Colors came flooding through every open passage and songs filled the air from every corner. This was the Opera Populaire.

_-Paris, 1870-_

I was so nervous, more so than I think I could rightly justify. My heart was threatening to pound out of my chest if I entered too quickly, oh dear Lord how did I ever end up here? A one Madame Giry said she would interview me, but... I knew how many people still thought of us gypsies. How would I ever be allowed to dance in an opera?

"Oh stop whining Elodie," I scolded myself as I made my way to the main doors, "There are many kinds of people in a theater, surely you'll fit in perfectly." But the sight of my dark hand reaching out to open the door only made my stomach lurch up into my throat. _Calm, calm, calm is all you need._

**Ok, yes this is an ExOc fic. And depending on how I feel, it might have some slightly M rated themes but for the most part it's T. I will warn any younger audience when it has that sort of content and will try to seperate it so you can skip over those parts, and if it comes to that I will probably change the rating to M.**

**Anyway, thank you for reading. Please do review.**


	2. Chorus Girl

Chorus Girl

Just from walking through the slim beautiful doors, the facets of the glass shimmering like diamonds in the sun, one would think that the opera house was a palace. Finely polished floors, grand statues, the crimson curtains and gold trimmings, even the stairs looked divine. I guess it must be my deprived Romany side talking, but... it still was the grandest place I had ever stepped foot in.

I turned to one of the closest maids, who was making sure that the magnificent tiled floor never got dull, "Excuse me?" She merely glanced up and dropped her rag in the bucket she had next to her.

"What?" I frowned, normally the maids of any building were required to be polite to people...I suspected that it was because I was a gypsy. Prejudice is high everywhere I guess.

"I just wanted to know where I could find a Madame Giry-"

"She's busy."

Annoyed, my voice took an edge to it, "This was the time she gave me for our meeting and so I doubt she would have any other engagements."

"She's the ballet mistress, they're a busy lot they are."

"Fine, where are they practicing at?"

The plump woman looked me over once more before giving me a nasty glare, "Somewhere your dirty kind aren't welcome."

I gave her one of the most charm filled smiles I could manage, "Very well. I shall go find her myself." I was pleased as she just sat there speechless, watching me climb the stairs and disappear from her sight.

The whole way down the hall I felt eyes on me, many happened to be those of workers at the opera, whether they be stage-hands or chorus girls. Many looked at me with disgust and displeasure, though others were more surprised. I wasn't sure if they were shocked to see a gypsy or a gypsy wearing pointe shoes and tights underneath her dress.

After several minutes, I managed to find my way to the stage and was furious to find that the corps de ballet truly were in rehearsal. A middle-aged woman with dark blond hair was going around critiquing many of the dancer's steps. Since there was only one person doing that I figured that it had to be Madame Giry.

Nervous, I approached the stage, I kept my head held high and slowed my breathing so it didn't look like I was about to hyperventilate. I felt a sudden coldness as I got closer, it felt like the stares that would pierce my back when I was a child and tried to go to school with everyone else...hatred. I glanced around at all the velvet cushions nearby to see the assailant.

Finding no one, I checked all the boxes, it was quite obvious that there was no one in them. I wanted to look through out the whole room but a voice stopped me. "Can I help you?" it was the woman.

"Madame Giry?"

"Oui, and you are?"

"Elodie, Elodie Sorrell. You said you would give me an audition for the ballet," I said quite hopeful now. She hadn't given me one threatening or disapproving look. The feeling of hate from earlier only grew...

Giry looked taken back, "_You_ are Elodie Sorrell? I'm afraid there is no room left, I asked you to be here yesterday but you never came."

I felt beaten down, run over. Everyone on stage was watching me carefully; I wouldn't be defeated...not in front of them, I couldn't if I wanted respect among this group. Cowardice doesn't win battles, even if it lets you live. "If you would excuse me, but, I have your letter with me. Clearly stating that the ballet was smaller than usual and that my noted experience, while not having been professional or throughout most of my life, was more than enough to gain me an audition today," I held the parchment out for her viewing.

But she didn't take it, she merely glanced at it then back at me, "I'm sorry but I didn't realize-"

"Realize what?" my eyes hardened and my voice sharpened, I had thought she would have been different, "That I was a gypsy, are gypsy really quite unable to dance in the same ballet as everyone else? I thought that France had agreed with the Americans on liberty and that all men were created equal and deserved the equality so denied to them? I have an education, Madame, unlike many of my family. I trained very hard to be something more than a beggar.

"You also told me in your letter that everyone deserved a chance and that the fact I had been turned away from other ballets meant nothing. "Prejudice is a curse of this world" you told me," I threw the letter down on the carpet in front of her feet. "But if this is how you really feel then I'm happy you won't take me. I don't want to be in a ballet where hatred of anything new rules the stage."

Trying to appear indifferent to this whole situation, I turned and started to walk off. My heart was breaking inside, I might not have wanted to really become a ballerina but the very fact that once again I was without a job because of what I was made me want to scream and cry and rip my hair out.

"Elodie," I stopped but didn't turn to face the ballet mistress, "Very well, I will give you a proper audition."

After several breaths...a few thousand, I was under control enough to face her and give a slight nod. Now I was about ready to jump around the room and squeal like a child. I quickly adjusted my pointe shoes and got rid of my heavier top skirt. Again, I had to appear calm, this didn't mean that I was going to make it... she just didn't want to seem like a hypocrite in front of her pupils.

All of Giry's students moved off to the sides of the stage, staring, waiting for me to slip up or say something. I didn't pay them any mind as I did a few quick stretches and climbed the stairs to the stage. I then stood with my legs together, toes pointed out away from each other, and my body straight and tall. Otherwise known as "first position" according to my past teacher.

"Ready?" I nodded. "Very well, first the basics." She had me go from first to fifth position and do several splits to check my posture. When she was satisfied with those she then had me do arabesques and plies, grande jete, and pirouettes all across the stage.

I was hardly out of breath as she seemed to assess me, "Monsieur Reyer."

"Oui Madame?" said the conductor in the orchestra pit, it was partly hidden by the stage. The man looked like a fragile man, tall with lots of gray hair already. Though he doesn't sound like he is that far along in years. He seemed the kind to be a nervous type who is easily stressed.

"Would you mind playing the score from the huge ballet we had a few years back," I know what she's doing and smile. If I've often come to the Opera Populaire then I'd be bound to remember the ballet steps from any huge opera, well...most ballerinas-in-training would be smart to remember steps from huge ballet productions. By not telling me the name of it I'll have to improvise.

I prepare for the music by automatically going into first position, arms at my side. Without giving me much warning, the music begins, I use the slow beginning to my advantage by doing a slow plie, bending my legs enough that I'm almost touching the floor. As the tempo speeds up I find myself doing leaps and twirls all over the stage. After one major spin, I go straight into left splits and calm my movements some.

Instead of stopping me a few minutes into the score, Madame Giry has me dance through the entire piece. I'll admit, I was very out of breath as the music came to a dramatic halt, I stood very still on the tips of my toes with my arms straight above me waiting for Giry to give me the command to move.

"Alright, relax," I sighed in relief as I got off my toes, I never said I was a great ballerina. "I'm impressed," she told me coming back onto the stage, "When did you start ballet?"

"five years ago," I admitted.

"And right now you are?"

"Eighteen." Many ballets consider anything below eight years to be an insufficient amount of experience to be in a professional setting. It was often the excuse I heard for being turned away.

Giry's expression was blank, that made me nervous. "Five years is not often what I'd take, the occasional six or seven yes. Can you sing?"

"Well enough to be a chorus girl," I wanted to be a singer, desperately... but no one wanted to see a gypsy on the front of their stage. I had been told this often, which is why the only ones to have heard me sing are my family. I refuse to sing outside of a group.

For some reason this seemed to please the woman, "Very well then. Everyone, welcome our newest member, Elodie Sorrell." I couldn't help but stare at her wide eyed, truly? I wasn't dreaming was I?

"When do you want me to move into the dorms?" I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling.

"You can get your things moved in tonight. We have rehearsals to continue," her voice was very strict, just what I'd expect from a ballet instructor. "Take your places everyone," All the dancers came back out and stood in lines of three, a clanking sound caught my attention, they had shackles that formed a line from wrist-to-wrist in their groups. There was two groups of two, the only boys in the ballet and two girls. Both girls caught my attention.

The blond looked a lot like Madame Giry, but her hair was so much lighter. Instead of blue eyes like her mother, she had doe like brown eyes that carefully observed everything. She was so innocent and delicate looking that I was jealous, she even had the perfect figure. I had noticed earlier that, even standing off to the side, that she always stood like she was performing. It hurt to think about having your toes turned out all the time.

The other was a bit taller than the blond and her brunette hair was overcome with curls, they were beautiful on her though. Her eyes a shade lighter than her partner but her skin looked more porcelain. Her body also made her a heart breaker, I'm sure. Instead of innocence being held in her face she had kindness and serenity. The girls had to be the best in the whole ballet.

"Elodie," I turned to the Madame again, "I want you to join my daughter, Meg Giry, and Christine Daae." She indicated the pair I had just been looking at. So I had been right, the little blond was her daughter. Daae...her name sounded foreign. Grabbing another chain and handing it off to me, Giry addressed both girls, "Catch her up."

They nodded, and, as I approached, both smiled at me, "Here let me help." The one to speak had to have been Christine, her voice was angelic and beautiful, "They can be a little tricky to put on." I realized that she had been talking about the chain and smiled.

"Thank you, they look it."

"Don't worry, we haven't gotten very far so it should be very easy to pick up," Meg's voice was actually very girlish, fit her looks.

"I wasn't too worried, I'm used to working hard anyway. So what production is the opera doing?" I really didn't know and I wanted to keep them out of my past, they seemed nice but I've learned not to trust people too easily.

"Chalumeau's Hannibal, first time this opera has ever performed it," Meg said with a smile.

Christine smiled as well, "It's very interesting. I believe that it will be a hit."

"Shame though that Monsieur Lefevre won't be there to see opening night."

"He won't?" Christine frowned and turned to the blond.

Meg shook her head, blond hair spilling over her petite shoulders, "Mama says that he's quiting."

"Why?"

"She wouldn't say."

"Who is Monsieur Lefevre?" I finally decided to ask.

Meg and Christine gave me apologetic looks. Christine spoke up first, "He's the current manager of this opera house."

"And he's going to quit? Before he has a chance to cut in on the money from opening night?" to me this sounded insane. Normally opening night is the best night to cash in on a new production. You can be guaranteed on the money even if the show is horrible.

"So says my mother," Meg said again shrugging her shoulders.

Speaking of which... "Girls! Enough talk and get back to rehearsing!" we flinched as she yelled at us from across the stage.

We spent most of the day working on what moves had been set down and then practicing what new choreography Madame Giry had. The work wasn't at all too hard to figure out, Meg and Christine helped me out whenever I got stuck. Meg was an angel at dancing, I was surprised that she wasn't already Prima Ballerina.

When we finally got our break, the main choir and singers got onto the stage to practice. Apparently it would be another week before we started practicing together, that would also be the first dress rehearsal.

"I thought we were referred to as the chorus girls?" I asked Christine as we sat down in some of the plush chairs out in the audience.

"We are, but we dance more than we sing. So we normally get the easiest parts of the chorus there is," she whispered as a new woman stepped out on stage, her fiery curls resting against her goddess sculptured face made her look like a diva.

Leaning over to the brunnette I asked, "Who is that?"

"The Prima Donna, La Carlotta," she said almost enviously. I opened my mouth to ask another question when "La Carlotta" shot me a hateful glare.

"Dancing girls dance, they do not talk," she hissed. Though I had a hard time making out her words, she had a thick accent. I had heard it before, Italian. Sighing, I sat quietly as the Prima Donna sang through her songs. I wanted to claw my ears off though, she had an... interesting.. voice anyway. But many of the notes seemed screeched instead of sung.

The second she started I felt a weight lifted off of me. I had been so busy practicing and worrying about the auditions that I had forgotten about the coldness that tried to pierce through me. I had honestly gotten used to it, but my skin got a few degrees warmer as Carlotta started.

She was about halfway through her piece when something bizarre happened. From where us girls were sitting the pit can easily be seen, especially the piano. Well, I had been watching Carlotta and noting how everyone else on stage hardly breathed, she must have been a witch. When out of my vision I see something brown fly from the rafters and the terrible "Bam!" that ensued..if you don't include the sound of the keys being slammed down.

When we jumped up and ran over to the pit, we found a sandbag, one used to hold down the props, had hit the lid of the piano which had made it drop. This had startled the pianist, causing him to slam the keys and fall off of the bench. What made it so strange was that this sandbag seemed realitivaly small and shouldn't have even fallen... but it wouldn't even be above the piano. The catwalks above were all behind the curtain meaning someone would've had to throw it.

"It has to be the Phantom of the opera," Meg stated, her voice a little shaky.

"Has the Opera Ghost made any demands recently?" I once again turned to the pair, Phantom of the opera? Opera Ghost? What in the world were they talking about?

Meg shook her head, "Not that anyone has been aware of."

"Whoever he is, maybe he just doesn't like Carlotta," they looked at me with shocked expressions, but their eyes told me that this had happened before and I was more than likely correct. I mean, why would he ruin _her_ song and not anyone else's? Or better yet, our dancing, there were more of us in the ballet than the chorus it seemed. At this statement the cold bringing hatred seemed to return. I would definitely have to ask who this ghost was.

I wasn't about to now and I'm sure no one else was going to be talking either. It seemed that the piano was alright but Carlotta was throwing a tantrum. She was yelling and screaming at some man that had appeared out of nowhere. His combed back hair and fancy suit made me to believe that he was very important, the manager perhaps? Carlotta would switch from French to Italian and back again, cursing him in French then wailing at him in Italian. This confirmed my guess as to this being continuous occurrences.

With my break being drug out, I finally took the time I wished to continue searching the room from which the hatred had taken birth. I got nothing until I looked up at the box closest to the stage on the right. From within the shadow I could see the fluid movement of silk, a cloak... it was instantly gone. I-I...I would probably need to ask about the ghost soon... A small little voice in my head retorted through the void of fear that had enveloped me and asked, _"What have you gotten yourself into?"_ What indeed.

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**This was overdue, sorry everyone. Please Review.**


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